


Enjoy the Silence

by agent_florida



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Dubious Consent, In Public, M/M, Public Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-04
Updated: 2010-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/agent_florida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarge is used to getting what he wants, and it’s not usually in Donut’s nature to tell him no. But when Donut starts standing up for himself, Sarge plays a trump card…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjoy the Silence

He’s had a sock on the door for, like, three weeks now.  
  
Sarge isn’t like most other men. In the barracks, what that meant was that you wanted to be alone, to keep your shame to yourself. Here, what it means is that he wants to share his shame with me.  
  
It started practically the minute he first noticed me. I wish I could say I didn’t know what gave it away, but I know. He liked – still likes – when I’m open about the things I like, the things I care about. I can’t help it if I’m stereotypical in some unsurprising ways. The first night we were both in Blood Gulch together, he asked me into his room, and we came to a kind of agreement.  
  
Thus the sock on the door.  
  
That first night was… well. It was a lot of things, but mostly it left me confused. I found out two things that night. First, Sarge is a good lay – a great lay. I’d never felt like that before, even though I’d been with some other older men. And secondly, he’s possessive. He’s single-minded and aggressive. If we were going to be in this relationship, he said, I’d have to be his, and only his.  
  
It’s never been a question of whether he wants me or not. The question is whether I want this for myself. I never wanted to be in this kind of a relationship. I may have watched too many romantic comedies as a kid (and in fact, that would explain a lot about me), but I always thought that love and sex went together. Not with Sarge. He wants me, wants me to be only his, but he doesn’t care about me in that way.  
  
I came away from that first night feeling a lot of things, but mostly used and slightly degraded. And yet I just keep going back there. The sock goes on the door about once a week, and I try to wait as long as I can, but I can barely hold out until Grif and Simmons are sleeping. Of course, Lopez never really sleeps, so I’m sure he knows. I try to keep the secret as best as I can, but I feel like it keeps nearly slipping.  
  
I hate myself for every day I give in. I really do. I know I deserve better, and I know this is wrong. All the same, though, I don’t feel like I have a choice. He’s my C.O. I know he wouldn’t make any untoward advances towards me, and I know I’m always free to say no, but if I do, I know he could make my life a mess. I could get transferred to a team where they aren’t as accepting of my eccentricities.  
  
But something needs to change. And I’m not saying no. I’m just saying that he needs to wait until I’m ready.  
  
He’s had a sock on the door for three weeks, but my radio’s been broken for a week and a half at least. Somehow, and I suspect the Blues had something to do with this, it’s stuck to broadcasting, whether I like it or not. Whenever I have my helmet on, everyone can hear everything I’m saying. When I pointed this out to Sarge, he said I must have gotten the thing jammed. He messed around with it for a few moments, but I swear he just broke it more. His smile when he handed my helmet back to me and the short little caress as our fingers overlapped made me a little weak at the knees, but I promised myself I would hold out. I promised.  
  
I tried asking Lopez about the radio yesterday. I brushed up on my Spanish for the last week and tried asking him as nicely as I could, but I’m pretty sure I heard an ‘idiota’ in his response, so I don’t think he’s fixing it any time soon. I feel like I’ve lost all my privacy around the base when I’m in armor, so I try not to talk so much. It’s hard, staying quiet.  
  
This morning, I heard Sarge tell Grif and Simmons that they were on patrol, but they’re just standing outside the base, not really moving. I assume they’re talking about something, spinning bullshit the way they usually do. It’s cute, really. Sometimes I like to think that they’re together and they’re happy in a way I can’t be, but that’s a worse lie than my Harry Potter fanfiction.  
  
Really, though, telling stories to myself is one of the few ways I can distract myself from how much my life sucks right now. It’s been almost a month since I’ve been laid, Sarge is probably super mad at me, Lopez won’t even help me, and Grif and Simmons won’t talk to me since they found out my helmet is broken. So I’m just standing here on top of the base, hoping no one notices how miserable I am, when I hear Sarge behind me. “How’s patrol going, blondie?”  
  
Well, that’s a start. He hasn’t called me a food-related nickname since he put the sock on his door. I’m afraid to say something back, but he asked for a report, and I can’t deny him that. “Canyon’s empty, sir,” I say, keenly aware of how effeminate my voice must sound as it broadcasts to everyone in the gulch.  
  
“Can you be quiet?” Simmons turns around from where he’s standing, where the ramp of the base meets the dirt road. “We’re trying to have a conversation down here.”  
  
“Sorry, guys,” I apologize. I know they’re still mad that I can’t control the volume on my helmet, and when Simmons turns back around I can actually hear his grumble from this far away.  
  
I can tell Sarge is right behind me. My HUD is lighting up with his heat signature, and pretty soon – yup, it’s the familiar chill down my spine. I want to say something, hiss at him to stop, not right here, not right now, but even if I keep my voice low, they’ll hear it. And if they hear it, that’s the end. Everyone would know. And no one can know about this.  
  
His hand is on my armor. His fingers are fumbling for a catch, and then my breastplate is falling open at my feet. I wonder if they hear my gasp coming through the radio, or if my in-helmet mic has been generous to me this time. “You’ve been ignoring me,” he says, running a gloved hand against the bodysuit covering my ribs.  
  
“Sorry,” I say again, knowing that Grif and Simmons will think it’s for them, hoping that Sarge understands that it’s not because I’ve lost interest. I can’t say any more, and this is killing me.  
  
Grif doesn’t even turn around when he chastises me. “Just shut up, okay?” He never liked me anyway, so it’s easier to let his snide comments go, but if he had turned around, seen me without my breastplate on, seen Sarge behind me, things would have become a lot more complicated than I had intended.  
  
I want to say something back, but I bite my tongue, and I’ve never been so glad to cause myself pain, because now Sarge is undoing the plates that go around my pelvis, and there’s a moan growing in my throat that wants to get out. “You better stay quiet,” he says, and I hear the unsaid ‘or else.’ I’m aware of my breathing, of my heartbeat, and not just because my HUD is beeping at me that they’re abnormal.  
  
He wants me. He wants me here, and he wants me now, and I can’t say anything about it. This is so unbelievably hot that I was hard from the moment he first fumbled at me, and so unbelievably embarrassing that I’m sure my entire body is blushing as the armor pieces encasing my thighs get shucked off. I want to ask him if I have a choice, if I can just come to his room tonight and we’ll talk then, if I can take my helmet off so I can at least have a conversation with him.  
  
He anticipates my questions. “You’re keeping the helmet on, cupcake. You don’t need to talk for what I’m about to do to you.” His voice is a low growl. He sounds so dangerous when he talks like that, and he knows I like that. I’m practically shaking as he finds the seam around the middle of my bodysuit, and I try to keep my sigh as quiet as I can manage when my skin finally hits the warm air in the canyon. He pulls the one part up and the other part down, and suddenly I’m naked from armpits to knees, shivering but not from cold.  
  
“Face down, ass up,” he orders, and he gives me a little shove to make sure I comply. There are no words for how much I want this, how hot this is that he wants me this badly, how dangerous it is that we’re doing this right here in such a public place. Then he’s down behind me, spreading my cheeks further apart with his still-gloved hands, and I have to bite my lips so hard they bleed when I feel something hot and wet against my asshole.  
  
Oh God. He’s never done this for me before, and I had given up hope that he would ever figure out that this is one of my biggest turn-ons. But he doesn’t flinch back as he licks and slurps at my hole, and I can feel my own body giving in. I feel empty and I need Sarge to feel complete again, but at the same time, I know I shouldn’t give in this easily. I know I do the old backflip for anyone kind enough to indulge my kind of weird habits, but this is my sergeant… and he is licking me in a very sensitive place.  
  
I want to moan. Actually, I want to scream. This feels so good that it would be a crime not to make a noise – but if I do, they’ll see, and they’ll know. I reach behind me, feel for Sarge’s hand on my cheek, and grip his wrist as hard as I can muster. One last long lick, his tongue pressing into me for the briefest of moments, and then he pulls back for long enough to ask me a question. “What is it, Pinky?”  
  
I need him inside me. I need him inside me now. But I can’t say a word, and he knows that. “I’ll take the helmet off,” he says to me, “and you can talk all you want. But if I do, I’ll put your mouth to a better use first. Deal?”  
  
I don’t want to want this. I don’t want to nod my head so I can moan like a needy whore while my sergeant fucks me. I need him inside me now, but if the helmet comes off so I can tell him what I want, he’ll make me suck him off first. And I’m ashamed when I nod, ashamed that it’s so vigorous, and then his two hands are leaving my ass, creeping up my back, and pulling the chin of my helmet over my face.  
  
The canyon is so bright without the visor in front of my face, and my eyes are watering at the sudden sense of freedom. I can’t help it; I gasp for air, even though it’s more stifling than what was coming through my air intake. I can make all the noise I want now – well, within reason, since Grif and Simmons are still having that important conversation within hearing distance of a particularly loud shout. It doesn’t matter so much, though, because now Sarge is in front of me, pulling up my chin so that I sit back on my ankles, guiding my mouth towards his cock.  
  
If it were any other encounter, I would tease him, but if he’s desperate enough to have cornered me up here while my helmet isn’t working, he’s desperate enough to merit my best work. Then, as I’m about to go into overdrive, he pulls back my head at the upstroke, leaving a few strings of saliva still connecting his cock to my mouth. I’m looking up at him, acutely aware of how debauched I must look right now, half-naked and panting for him. He's still wearing his chestplate, and he's red-faced but grinning. “Knew you’d listen to sense,” he says quietly.  
  
His hand comes out of my hair, and a fingertip glides down my cheek and wipes my wet lips. He is still wearing his gloves, and I understand why once he pushes his fingertip into my mouth. I know what he wants me to do; we’ve done this before. I suck on his finger, and he adds another, not removing them until they’re coated with my own saliva. And when I see the predatory look in his eyes when he looks on my handiwork, I know I’m really in for it now.  
  
He drops to his knees, and before I know it I’m flipped into position, ass up and face down like I was before. I have never asked how he does that, and I’m not sure I want to know. I don’t even care, though, once he begins to stretch me out with his two lubed fingers. He knows I can go without preparation, so it appears that he’s spoiling me today. The texture of his gloves is amazing, and the subtle ridges and curves make the ordinary stimulation so much more intense.  
  
Then I realize: He’s not spoiling me, he’s teasing me. He knows I want his cock, not his fingers, and he knows that I’m not proud. “Sarge,” I whine in my best conniving tone.  
  
“What now, blondie?” I know he wants to hear it out of my mouth. I know he wants to hear me say the actual words and stop denying it to myself.  
  
I can’t bear not to tell him the truth. “I want you.” I say it as quietly as I can muster – nothing would match my shame if Grif and Simmons would hear any of this exchange, or see what’s been happening up here. “Please, in- inside me…”  
  
His fingers slow and then still inside me. I’m trembling, afraid of what this means. I know I’ve just said everything that I’ve left unsaid from the moment he first saw me, and I can’t imagine how much this is going to change the dynamic of our relationship. I can hear my own heartbeat, and I count the rhythm to myself. It seems like forever until he next speaks. “Well, if it means that much to you.” He says it so nonchalantly, like it doesn’t mean anything to him, and I feel my eyes water. This is the worst time for me to be effeminate about our relationship, I know, and I’m being melodramatic, but it feels like my heart is breaking.  
  
But I can’t focus on the tightness in my chest when Sarge is slowly pushing into me, and I stop wanting to cry when I feel that insistent nudge against the most sensitive part of my body. He’s manipulative. He’s got me right where he wants me. And I don’t even care, because I’m getting what I deserve. This stopped being about what I want when Sarge started knowing what I need better than I do.  
  
Really, it’s good for everyone. I get laid, so I’m much less cranky. Sarge gets laid, so he stops chasing after Grif and wanting to hurt him quite so badly. I turn my head to the side; I can see Grif and Simmons, still stuck in their conversation. Do they have any idea that it’s me who puts Sarge in such a good mood? And then my eyes squeeze shut as Sarge reaches around, grips my cock, slides a slicked glove over it.  
  
I moan. I can’t help it. I’m past the point of caring, which can only mean that I have already become the shameless whore I never wanted to be. But if being a shameless whore can get me the best lay of my life, with the best reacharound of anyone I’ve ever met, I’m willing to give up a little of my dignity. It’s not like I had any left anyways.  
  
Since my helmet stopped working, I got used to being quiet. And now it seems like I can’t start being loud again. I can’t tell Sarge how good this feels – how criminally, fantastically good this feels – without feeling like someone can hear me. I’ve lost all my privacy, and I’m pretty sure this is exactly what Sarge wanted. I settle for panting, hard, as he works inside me, afraid that even breathing will let my secret out to the whole canyon.  
  
It’s over much quicker than I anticipated, probably because it’s been a month. My throat hurts, and I assume I’m making a noise, because my heartbeat is so loud in my ears that I can’t hear anything else. I’m coming, hard, screwing my eyes shut against the brightness of the canyon and against the shame I’m feeling. Sarge isn’t far behind, grunting out a ‘yeah’ as he thrusts against me harder than he ever has.  
  
Somehow, within seconds, he’s able to disengage and pull his armor back together, and before I can even catch my breath my sergeant is pulling his helmet down over his face. I can never tell what he’s thinking when he has his helmet on, but just when I think he’s not going to help me pull myself together, his hands are back on me again, helping me slide back into my bodysuit, giving me my armor plates so I can shakily snap them back into place. I give him a weak smile. I don’t know if he’s returning it.  
  
The last piece of armor that I need is my helmet, but when I look for it I see he’s still holding it in his hands. He’s examining the radio function on it again, fiddling with the knobs and the switches. He always looks so sexy when he’s being mechanically minded like that, and I can feel my face heating up. “I think we can find a way to fix this, cupcake,” he says.  
  
My eyes go wide. “Did you break that on purpose?” I ask him petulantly.  
  
“Hey, Lopez!” he yells. I can hear a ‘si’ coming from somewhere around the back of the base. “Get up here so you can help me fix Pinky’s helmet!” He evaded my question, but at least I know the answer. He did it on purpose to see how far I was willing to go with this.  
  
Well, I think I proved him wrong. He gave in before I ever did. And I smile at him, a real smile this time, knowing that he thinks I’m being grateful, thinking all the while that I won this one after all.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Here, have an outtake that I couldn’t do because I wrote this in first person present.
> 
> Church put down the barrel of his sniper rifle. From next to him, Tucker asked, “What are they doing now?”
> 
> Church groaned. “They’re still just standing there, and they’re still just talking.”
> 
> Tucker interrupted him. “No, I didn’t mean Grif and Simmons. I meant Sarge and Donut. What the hell is that?”
> 
> Church put his sniper back up to his eye, but put it down again very quickly. “They’renotdoinganythingIsweartoGoddon’tevenaskme,” he blurted out.
> 
> “What?” Tucker asked. “What were they doing?”
> 
> Church dropped the rifle as he left the roof of Blue Base. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he yelled back to Tucker as he dropped into the base.
> 
> “Heh. Yeah. Now I finally get the sniper rifle,” Tucker said to himself as he walked over to pick it up. But once he trained it on the roof of Red Base, he was almost regretting it. “Double-you tee fuck.” He dropped the rifle just as quickly and sprinted off the roof to join Church. “You asshole! You could have warned me!”


End file.
